


Rush

by ryttu3k



Series: Simstagram Side Stories [1]
Category: The Sims (Video Games)
Genre: Drugs, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Self-Hatred, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k
Summary: An unexpected encounter dredges up some unpleasant ghosts from Johnny's past.
Relationships: Johnny Zest/Caleb Vatore
Series: Simstagram Side Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643032
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an expansion of my [Simstagram account](https://www.instagram.com/calebvvatore/) for Caleb. He and Johnny have been dating for just over a year and live in Alto Apartments in Uptown; Caleb is working through PTSD from a few years earlier when he was forcibly turned. Johnny is normally the reassuring, comforting one in the relationship, but there are plenty of demons of his own...
> 
> The accompanying post can be found [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/B7TNWcqF9Q0/).

He's staring at his hands, at the way they tremble, dangle limply from his wrists. The black nail polish is chipping; he's been picking at them, trying to unravel his ragged edges.

The cab is moving, and he's glad. Normally he walks. Right now, he's not sure he has the strength, needs someone to carry him from venue to apartment and not to stop. Knows that if he had been moving under his own steam, he might have stayed.

He's too weak to take that chance.

"Uptown, huh?" the cab driver remarks, and Johnny slow-blinks as he raises his head. "Nice place up there. You ever get those fancy gourmet cupcakes?"

He smiles wanly. "Yeah. Sometimes."

The driver nods. "Too expensive for me. That Uptown stuff puts a premium on it, y'know? I guess it's no big deal for someone like you."

 _Poor little rich boy._ Johnny hides a flinch. "What?"

"Big comedian and all. Y'know."

"Oh. Yeah." He picks at his nails. "I've only been here for two months. Used to live in the Spice Markets. Culpepper House."

"No shit? My sister lives in Jasmine Suites! S'right next door, innit?"

He smiles again, faintly. "Yeah. It's a nice neighbourhood."

Back when he first moved to the city, it was sanctuary. He could handle the cracked walls, the faded carpets, the steam clunking through pipes. He had enjoyed being part of the community, living and breathing, safe and secure.

Clean, for the first time since he had been sixteen.

Still poor, but only because he was still establishing in the comedy circuit, and not because all of his cash was going straight up his nose. If there was a guy in his bed, it was because he wanted him there, not because they were funding his habit. If he had an audition or a gig, it was because he was working hard, not because he had been on his knees in front of the director or bar owner an hour earlier.

It had saved his life, the Spice District. San Myshuno had picked him up after Del Sol had spat him out, set him on his feet again.

"So," the cab driver is saying, "You're moving up in the world, huh?"

Johnny exhales. "Yeah, I guess. My boyfriend asked me to move in with him and his sister. We're all arty types, I guess - he does social media, Simstube and stuff, and she's a painter."

"Fun scene. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, huh?"

His lips press together. "Please," he says, and the joke falls leaden from them. "We'd never do anything as wild as rock and roll."

The guy laughs.

Johnny doesn't.

It's quiet when he gets home, and dark, just the kitchen lights on. Tucked under his favourite mug is a note from Caleb, his messy handwriting explaining that friends had come down from the Hollow, that they were taking advantage of the night to spend time together. Caleb and Lilith, they're both sun-resistant; Johnny has met the few friends they still had from the Hollow and knew they weren't the same.

It's a little after midnight. January nights are long and dark. The dawn is hours away.

There's pasta in the fridge, the note says; closes with a scribbled doodle heart. Johnny presses his fingertips to his lips, then to the drawing.

He finds the pasta covered with a plate, nestled against a bowl of plasma fruit salad and Lilith's blood packs. Caleb is a ridiculously good cook for someone who can't properly taste their food, but Johnny's appetite has escaped him.

He used to get so wired up when high he would go without eating for days on end. By the time he had escaped Del Sol, he had practically been a wisp of air. Johnny sets a hand on his hip, pinches the skin there, reassures himself of his solidity and presence.

The fire has died down to embers, and without the heating on, he's starting to feel chilled. Kicking off his sneakers, Johnny wanders in his socks into the living room, stokes the fire back up, retreats to the sofa and pulls his legs up to his chest.

The fire is good. The fire chases the chill from his bones, keeps him warm. There are no amphetamines racing through his veins; he is warmed from outside in and not the other way around.

He had been broken when he had arrived. Shattered and tired. He had spent three years buried in his misery and another two trying to fight it and failing, failing, and failing; he's been clean for three and a half years and should have never even thought about it ever again.

And all it had taken was a glimpse of a familiar face and he had felt the longing for that rush all over again.

How could he be so weak?

He's not sure how long it's been, sitting there, staring at the flames, when the door opens. They're both being quiet in consideration for the fact that he'd normally be asleep right now; Johnny can hear Caleb's footsteps halt when he spots Johnny's silhouette against the fire.

"I'm awake," he says quietly to the flames, and then adds, "Sorry."

"I'm going to go do a workout," Lilith says; her footsteps hurry towards her room, and Caleb's approach. There's a shadow to his side, a dip in the cushions. A cool arm wraps around his waist, a head rests on his shoulder.

Caleb doesn't speak immediately. Johnny is grateful for the silence, for the company and quiet reassurance; the arm around his middle lifts so Caleb's fingers can trail through his hair.

"This is a bit different." Caleb's finally spoken up, he huffs a tired laugh. "Normally you're the one reassuring me when _I'm_ all messed up."

Johnny only makes a noncommittal sound, and Caleb trails off uncertainly.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"No. No."

No verbal reply; Caleb shifts so he can cuddle into Johnny's side.

The fire is starting to dwindle again. He thinks Caleb might have almost fallen asleep when he finally lets the words drop.

"My old dealer was at the show tonight."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

His eyes close. "I didn't do anything stupid, if that's what you're asking," he says, then winces, because it's come out more bitter-sounding than he had intended. "But I was tempted. Watcher, I really was tempted. Fuck."

"Are you okay?" Caleb says again, softly, slipping his hand into Johnny's.

It's a non-answer. "Mm." Bites his lip, wants to keep biting until he tastes blood, huffs a laugh at the thought because apparently he's been spending too much time with his vampire boyfriend. "I'm pissed off at myself, mostly," he says, and with his eyes closed, he can pretend it's a confession to himself. "It's fucked up how weak I am. I lost so many years of my life to it, but for a bit, I forgot how shit it is being an addict and just wanted the rush again."

"You're not weak," Caleb says, and there's a tremor in his voice. "You didn't give in, did you?"

"I should have been better. I should have been _stronger_. I shouldn't have even thought about it. I'm a stupid, fucked-up -"

Caleb's hands wrap around his own; his nails have pressed crescents into his palms. "Then I guess we're both stupid and fucked up and weak, right?" he says hollowly. "If you're weak for being tempted by something you did for years, then I'm weak for still being fucked up over something that only happened for two weeks."

"They fucking _tortured_ you -"

"And you were _addicted_. That's not weak, that's an illness." Caleb sighs, burrows his head into the crook of Johnny's neck. "You're not weak."

And he wants to fight it, but can't, can't without recognising the trap his boyfriend has laid gently at his feet. Johnny's eyes feel hot and damp, can feel the emotion buried in a knot in his throat.

He knows Caleb isn't weak. Knows that whatever happened over those two weeks when he was first turned has etched itself on his soul, and that trauma is never weakness. He knows that.

And if that's true, then maybe, maybe he can forgive himself for a brief moment of temptation.

"I really miss being high," Johnny says miserably.

Caleb's arms are wrapped around him. Johnny is practically in his lap. His eyes are closed, their hands are clutched together.

"You always look after me," Caleb says softly, drops a kiss into his hair. "Whenever I crash, you're the one who picks me up. Just once, let me look after you."

He's almost twenty-five years old, successful in his field, successful in his life. Beautiful home in the fancy part of town. Gorgeous boyfriend who he loves and who loves him. Secure. Safe.

Buried deep, mostly silent, almost dormant, there's a sixteen-year-old boy huddled against an alley wall, waiting for the drugs to kick in and wondering why his mother hates him so much.

He thinks that boy never went away. He thinks that boy will always be there.

Johnny hopes that one day he can forgive him.


End file.
